Guardian Angel
by syko4bosco aka A. Lalad
Summary: After a hard day, Bosco is saved by a Guardian Angel
1. Bosco's POV

[b]Guardian Angels[/b] [b]By:[/b] Amanda aka syko4bosco [b]Rating:[/b] PG [b]Disclaimer:[/b] I asked Santa. He laughed and said, "Yeah, ok, maybe I'll have them waiting for you on that PONY you wanted too!" So, that was pretty much my last hope. Bosco and Faith and the rest still belong to the guys at NBC. As for Santa...I hope he chokes on a cookie. [b]Spoilers:[/b] Milk, bread, cheese, some really old vegetables, but nothing from Third Watch [b]Dedication:[/b] For BoscoRush, who noticed I was gone. [b]Authors Note:[/b] Interesting how writing desperately...writing to write...can sometimes end up mirroring your feelings without even trying. [i]I wrote this because I NEEDED TO.[/i]  
  
==*==   
  
He just wanted to be out of his head tonight.  
  
He just wanted to forget the day and be consumed by the night.  
  
He just wanted to escape himself--his thoughts, his conscience.  
  
==*==   
  
The day had started off well enough. The usual routine: wake up, eat whatever didn't have mold growing on it, dig some half-clean clothes out of the closet, and go to work.  
  
I actually got there early too. First time in a couple of weeks, I think. Sullivan applauded me when I walked in, and I had a few choice words to throw back at him.  
  
The shift started off normal. Faith had the day off to go to Charlie's parent-teacher conferences, so I was riding with Stevenson. Nice enough guy. Not Faith, but hey, who is?  
  
Took two reports from a fender-bender and a hot-dog cart guy who was robbed, but other than that, things were calm, and we laid low.  
  
It's getting warmer now, so the sun was out longer, and the sun didn't set until almost 7.  
  
I like night, but I don't, for this reason: at night, you can be anyone, or anything. Sometimes thats good. Sometimes I like the night because it feels more comfortable. I spend a lot of my waking hours in the night time anyways. I know the night. The day time almost feels too open, too vulnerable. The shadows I'm so used to are gone during the day, but I always expect to see them anyway.  
  
But New York at night...that's when the loonies come out. The freak shows and the creeps and the all around bad people. And that's what happened tonight.  
  
We had fifteen minutes left on shift. Stevenson was riding shotgun and I was driving. I guess I was bored, but when I saw the bent up license plate of the car we were following, I decided to flick the sirens on. I mean, most of the letters were obscured, and it probably would have warranted a written warning at most, but I guess, in truth, I just wanted to do SOMETHING tonight besides drive up and down the streets of our sector. Stevenson got out, grabbed his notebook, and they took off.  
  
We called in for backup, and took off after them. Luckily the roads were almost empty, it had been quiet like that all night.  
  
Before we knew it, we were surrounded by back up units. We were at the head of the chase, I do remember that much. The rest of it is a blur. When you're flying through the city at 90 mph, not a lot sticks with you. All I know is I was watching the road and the car ahead of us and not much else. Stevenson was talking, but I don't know what he was saying. I know that I heard him give me the 'clear' at each intersection, but it was far away, and I barely registered it. You can't get distracted during a chase. Distractions can lead to death, and that we didn't need.  
  
Suddenly the back driver's side door to the perp's car flew open, and his accomplice held it open against the wind and the speed of the car with his leg.  
  
The next thing I remember is the horrific thud and crack the body made when it hit the RMP's windshield. Without warning, I found myself staring into the terrified glazed over eyes of a very beautiful dead girl, her face plastered to the glass, neck bent at the most awkward angle.  
  
I lost control of the car, and ended up swerving right into the underpass of a bridge. Thank God by that time I was able to slow us down enough so that Stevenson wasn't hurt. I hit the steering wheel with my chest pretty hard, but I didn't hear any cracks, so I figure no one has to know.  
  
M.E. reported the cause of death to be a broken neck. Broken upon impact with our RMP windshield.  
  
In other words, if I hadn't gotten so bored tonight, that girl would be alive. They had been holding her hostage, and the ransom was about to be paid tonight. When they saw us, they panicked. She might be hugging her folks right now if it weren't for me. Instead, they have to go and arrange a funeral.  
  
All I could see was her face, up against that glass...that look of horror forever plastered there, on her features...beautiful features that should have died beautiful, not twisted in the terrified grimace they were in.  
  
By the time I left the station, it was morning. Around 2 I think.  
  
We did the paperwork, although I know whatever I did probably isn't worth shit. I don't even remember doing it. All I remembered was her face. And the fact that she would be alive if it not for me.  
  
I really wish Faith had been there. I really needed her tonight, even though I would never tell her that. But I'm happy she didn't see what I saw. She doesn't need to see things like that.  
  
I did. I saw it. And all I wanted then was to just wanted to get out of my head.  
  
==*==   
  
I couldn't go to Ma's bar. Sometimes you just need to drink in silence among strangers. And it was one of those times.  
  
Not sure how many drinks I had. Bartender cut me off eventually...I think...  
  
Not sure what time I left the bar. Somehow I ended up with the bottle.  
  
The dead girl's face was fading now, but it was still there. Still there...still floating in front of me, but blurry and faded...as was everything else. A world in a slow-mo tunnel. Ah, alcohol...  
  
I stumbled to my car, and dug in my pockets for my keys. I wasn't going to drive. Just rest for awhile. Let my head clear. Turn on the heat at least...I was freezing.  
  
Suddenly, I heard someone call my name. I remember being confused, trying to find out who it was, turning and falling, and then she grabbed me.  
  
My Angel.  
  
Yeah, that's right. Don't laugh. I'm not making this up. An Angel. A real Angel.  
  
She lifted me up so gently, like I weighed nothing at all, and leaned me against my car, then she stood back to look at me.  
  
Light radiated from around her, warm and soft. Her features were perfect, natural and beautiful. I think she is, quite possibly the most amazing, breathtaking thing I have ever laid eyes on. And I've laid eyes on a lot.  
  
Her skin was fair, her eyes were calm but piercing. Her hair flowed onto her shoulders and the light shone through it, glinting off of the amber highlights there.  
  
I couldn't breathe. And I knew. I knew she was an Angel.  
  
Without saying anything, she walked over and put her warm arms around my waist, supporting me, helping me to walk.  
  
The next thing I can remember is seeing her face shining down at me as she gently laid me down on my bed. How I got home is a mystery to me, but I know my Angel helped me get home safe.  
  
I asked her where her wings were, and she only laughed, smile lighting up her face even more. Maybe I just couldn't see them, but all Angels have wings, right?  
  
She slowly leaned down and kissed my forehead, whispered for me to go to sleep, and she was gone.  
  
I know now that I would have never gotten home that night if it hadn't been for my Angel.  
  
I had parked right against the outer wall of the bar, in the small parking lot there. During the night, a gas leak in the apartment upstairs ended up causing an explosion that demolished the entire building, as well as my car. If I had been sleeping, or passed out in it that night, like I had planned...I wouldn't be here telling you this story right now.  
  
And I know it's all because God sent me a Guardian Angel.  
  
========== End Part (1/2) ========== 


	2. Faith's POV

==*==   
  
He just wanted to be out of his head tonight.  
  
He just wanted to forget the day and be consumed by the night.  
  
He just wanted to escape himself--his thoughts, his conscience.  
  
==*==   
  
The day had started off well enough. The usual routine: wake up, wake up the kids and the husband, get everyone ready, make the lunches, get the kids off to school and make sure Fred didn't walk out the door without his pants.  
  
Every morning the same thing. And after they leave, I stand there, never really fully awake, in the midst of an apartment that looks like it was annihilated by a tornado. I eat my breakfast, then rush around the house like a mad woman trying to pick up the majority of the mess, shower, and get to work on time.  
  
Not today. Today it could wait. Because I had the day off, and Charlie's teacher conferences weren't until 6:30. That meant a bubble bath, an afternoon of soap operas and ice cream, and best of all, SILENCE.  
  
I spent the day in sweats and a tee shirt, curled on the couch thinking about the things I WOULD have been doing if I had not gotten the day off. I must admit, it was nice to do nothing for a day.  
  
Ordered Chinese for lunch, pizza for dinner. The sitter came over, Fred and I went to the conferences and then out for coffee. We haven't talked in awhile, and I can't remember how many years it's been since we've had the chance to sit around in a coffee house and listen to the mellow jazz and just talk.  
  
It was a good day.  
  
That's why I didn't expect to go home and see what I saw. I would have missed it--I was brushing my teeth--but Fred had the TV on in the bedroom and he called me in to see it.  
  
The reporter was talking about an accident that had just taken place, minutes ago. A kidnapped girl about to be released to her family, who had just paid her ransom, had been thrown out of her captor's car during a police chase. She had hit the police car behind them, snapping her neck instantly. A quick shot of the crime scene made me swallow my mouthful of toothpaste before I could stop myself.  
  
They were pulling the bagged up body off of our squad.  
  
The windshield of 55-David was a spider web of cracks, and in the quick shots that followed, I could see it had been driven right into the concrete underpass of a bridge.  
  
"Bosco was working tonight." I whispered, wiping my mouth and sitting on the bed beside Fred, who was also intently watching.  
  
"You would have been working tonight." He whispered back, eyes never leaving the screen.  
  
"THERE" he yelled suddenly, pointing quickly at the set, where Bosco could be clearly seen in the background, sitting on a curb, head buried in his hands.  
  
The report ended, I caught the part about minor injuries only, and the kidnappers had been caught, then grabbed the phone and dialed Bosco's cell phone. An automated voice told me his phone was currently not on, and would I like to leave a message?  
  
"Bosco, it's me, call me when you get this--I don't care what time--Just want to make sure you're ok..."  
  
Called the station, but Bosco was still out--the news footage had been live, and he wouldn't be back for awhile. I told the precinct to have him call me, but apparently the message was never delivered. Even after I called three times to remind them.  
  
Fred fell asleep around 12:30.  
  
I tried to sleep--I mean, Bosco was obviously ok. He wouldn't have been sitting on the curb alone if he had been hurt, and they would have called me if he had been taken to the hospital.  
  
But still...I couldn't shake that feeling...  
  
I called his cell phone again around 1, then 1:15...1:30...he wasn't answering. I kept calling, but stopped leaving messages, and started calling his house instead.  
  
"Hey, it's me again...call me when you get in...I'll be up...call me when you get this...  
  
I tried to reason with myself. For all I knew, he was out with some girl, painting the town and having a wild night. But...I don't know...I guess you could call it mother's instinct, but I wasn't buying it. I couldn't convince myself, and even though I felt like I was overreacting, some part of me didn't think so.  
  
By 3 am, Fred was snoring fitfully beside me, mouth hanging open, eyes moving behind his dark eyelids. He didn't even feel me get out of bed or hear the door open and close.  
  
I went and sat down in the living room, in the dark, not quite sure what to do. I felt like I had to do something, but I didn't know what.  
  
The next thing I remember is putting the keys into the ignition of Fred's truck. I didn't know where I was going, but I needed to get out. I made sure my cell phone was with me though, and kept trying his every once and awhile.  
  
I drove for awhile, not really knowing where I was going, turning down streets and side streets and getting lost, then finding my way again. No real end destination. Just driving.  
  
I don't remember most of it, but when I pulled up to a stop light at the intersection of Amsterdam and 108th, the mother's instinct feeling came back. I found myself pulling across the street into the parking lot of "Jake's Tavern" just in time to see my very drunk partner stumble out to his car.  
  
I stopped for a minute and watched him, shocked by what I was seeing. In all of New York, I find my partner at some hole in the wall bar on a whim. Like miraculously finding a needle in a haystack.  
  
He didn't see me pull in, even though my headlights flashed across his back. I watched as he dug in his pockets for his keys, looking quite inebriated and swaying a lot.  
  
I cut the ignition, jumped out of the car and yelled to him. He stopped, started to turn toward my voice, and I ran up to him just in time to save him from falling on his ass.  
  
His dead weight in my arms was too much to handle so I leaned him against his car and gently took his keys from his hand. Bosco NEVER lets anyone take his keys, but he was so out of it he didn't even notice.  
  
He squinted towards me, and I stepped in front of the light from the street lamp to shield his eyes. He smiled, and I could do nothing but stare at him for a minute, smiling back.  
  
It wasn't that cold, but I had goosebumps all over my arms.  
  
His head swayed on his shoulders, and he was looking at me like I was a three-headed clown or something.  
  
"Bosco, how many drinks did you HAVE?" (I asked more out of mere curiosity than anything else)  
  
He laughed and continued to stare at me.  
  
"Let's get you home."  
  
I walked over to him and put my arm around his waist, and helped him get into the truck. It wouldn't have been so hard had he not passed out half way into the passenger seat. After a bit of struggling, I got him buckled in and started toward his apartment.  
  
The whole way there all I could think of was the feeling I'd had that night. How I had just happened to be driving down that road and seen that bar--and thought to pull into the parking lot JUST in time to stop him from getting behind the wheel--it was really kind of creepy.  
  
One thing I learned from the experience: It is very difficult to get a semi- conscious drunk man up a staircase, let alone 3. He almost fell over when I leaned him against the wall outside his apartment while I unlocked the door.  
  
It was a struggle to get his clothes off too. I left him in his tee-shirt and boxers, but as I was pulling his shirt off over his head, he hissed in pain and I found a huge round bruise on his chest. It was about the size of our RMP steering wheel, so I figured he must have been driving during the accident.  
  
I helped him to bed, the whole time he was mumbling something about Angels...and when I finally laid him down, he said the first semi-coherent thing all night.  
  
"Where are your wingsss?"  
  
I couldn't help but laugh, kissed him on the head, and told him to go to sleep.  
  
==*==   
  
Fred let me sleep in, so I think he knows I went out looking for Bosco. When I did wake up, once again, the channel 5 news brought me more startling images, and again the goosebumps returned.  
  
"Jakes Tavern" was destroyed by a gas leak an hour after I'd found Bosco there--the whole building pretty much exploded, and Bosco's car was completely destroyed.  
  
I was afraid of his reaction going into work, trying to figure out how I would explain to him why I didn't drive him home in his car--his precious baby--but he never mentioned it.  
  
Don't tell him I said anything, but all he could talk about during the whole shift was the Angel who had saved him that night. I must say, the way he described the incident was so flattering and so funny, I still haven't had the heart to tell him.  
  
I have noticed him looking at me a couple times...with that same three- headed-clown look I had gotten that night...almost like he knows but he's denying it.  
  
All I can do is smile and thank God that I found him outside of that bar.  
  
I do think that there was an Angel there watching over Bosco that night. But I think that the real Angel is the one who guided me to find him and help him home.  
  
I asked him one time why he believes it so strongly. He was drunk afterall-- he admitted it to me. I argued that he could have been hallucinating.  
  
He smiled from ear to ear, and simply said, "Sometimes all you need is Faith."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The End  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Note: Hehe, hope you liked it--I thought it was kind of a cute idea--bonus points to AC for predicting the ending correctly! Always thought that Faith was Bosco's Angel--but I think Bosco needed to know that too...  
  
~Amanda 


End file.
